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“Then go with that. You said Abbie and her mother were afraid of Kenneth. What would a mother do to protect her child?”
“You think my mother did this?”
At the sound of Abbie’s voice, we both turn to look at her and her eyes burn into me.
“She didn’t do this.”
She tries to walk away. I pull her back to me, giving Reid my back. “No, I don’t think your mother did this and as for Reid, better he asks the questions before the police, so we’re ready for them.”
Her lashes lower, her expression pained. “I hate this.” She looks at me. “I hate this beyond words. I hated him beyond words. I can’t lie about that and be believable.”
“And yet you were married to him for five years,” I say, playing devil’s advocate.
Her eyes flash angrily. “Did you really just say that me?”
“Reid just said it to me. Reese will say it as well.”
“You know why.” She cuts her stare. “It’s complicated.”
I catch her chin and turn her gaze to mine. “I know why. You were afraid of him but fear can be a motive. That’s going to come up. You’re going to have to talk to Reese about it. You’re going to have to talk to the police about it. And so is your mother.”
“I wish my mother could just be left out of this.”
“How was she on the phone? Where is she?”
“Worried but calm. She’s headed to the airport.”
Calm. I’m not sure that’s what I expected but she’s a vet who deals with critical emergencies. Calm might be her panic but I don’t comment. I open the back door of the SUV and urge Abbie forward. “Let’s get this over with.”
She nods and climbs into the vehicle. I join her, tension radiating between us that came from nowhere and yet everywhere. I reject what can only hurt us, pulling her close, silently telling her that I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Reidclimbs into the front passenger seat and the driver pulls us onto the road.
None of us speak.
But without question, we’re all thinking about the same thing: murder.
The ride is short, and not more than fifteen minutes later, we’re inside a large room, sitting at a conference table, me beside Abbie, Reid at the end of the table. We’ve barely sat down when Cat walks in, her hand on her growing belly, her dress a blue satin that clings to her body and highlights her pregnancy.
“My God,” she declares dramatically shutting the door, blowing a long strand of blonde hair from her eyes. “What happened?” She looks at me, sizes me up, and with one glance warns me what’s to come. She’s going on the attack, and already she’s refocused on Abbie. “Whathappened, Abbie?”
And just like that, in two words and her name, Cat’s opened the door for a confession. To protect me. To protect her husband before he represents Abbie. To protect Abbie when she talks to the police, already seasoned from the internal attacks.
“Apparently murder,” Abbie whispers, cutting her stare, emotion bleeding from her, crashing into me and I try not to let that affect me. Of course, she’s emotional. She was married to the man. She’s scared. It doesn’t mean she loved him.
“And I hated him,” she adds, and as if she spoke those words for me, to me, her eyes meet mine. “I hate him,” she repeats, her gaze shifting back to Cat. “How can I say that and not end up looking guilty? I didn’t kill him, Cat.”
There is so damn much anguish in her voice that Cat reacts, her expression softening from accusation to understanding. “Oh, honey,” she says, rushing forward to claim a seat at thetable across from us. “Lot’s of people hate their ex-husbands. That doesn’t mean they kill them.”
“But my ex really is dead,” Abbie argues. “I’m not most people.”
The door opens on that comment and Reese appears, dressed in an expensive three-piece suit, he radiates this kind of warrior arrogance that dominates this room and any courtroom he enters. He’s confident. He’s in charge. He’s all business as he sets out to do what I know he does with all prospective clients before he offers comfort: he decides if he’ll represent them. He tests them. He puts them on the spot. And I know that’s what’s about to happen. He sits down in front of Abbie, looks her in the eyes, and asks, “This was a contract killing, I’m told.”
“Yes,” Abbie says. “I was told the same.”
Reese leans in a little closer to her, lowers his voice, as if he’s talking to just Abbie, and no one else. “Did you want your ex-husband dead, Abbie?”
Chapter fifty-three
Abbie
